


Sugar Crystal Sisyphus

by Byacolate



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Disabled Character, First Dates, Human Zenyatta, Ice Cream, Ice Cream Parlors, M/M, meet cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-10 23:21:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7865452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Byacolate/pseuds/Byacolate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Genji might be a little in love with a man who's a lot in love with marshmallows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mo_Cuddles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mo_Cuddles/gifts).



> For [Mo_Cuddles](http://cuddlingthecthulhu.tumblr.com/), an unbelievably talented artist I was privileged to meet during a match and swapped syrupy Genyatta headcanons with. Here's one just for you!

“You’re in love with Marshmallow Boy.”

 

Genji scoffs once, and scoffs again at Hana where she sits in the corner, judging him with her triple scoop cup of bubblegum ice cream.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

Hana shrugs and lifts the game from her lap, her bored stare transferred. “Sure you don’t.” She pops a spoonful of bright pink ice cream in her mouth, tonguing the spoon to the side as she plays.

 

Genji scowls at her over the glass case. He refills the sprinkles a scant few centimeters, paces the immaculate rubber mat, washes his hands. Clicks his tongue. “He’s just -” He waves a hand through the air, though it fails to grab Hana’s attention. _“You know.”_

 

“No,” Hana says, pausing her game and dropping her chin into the palm of her hand. She grins. “Why don’t you tell me?”

 

There’s nothing to tell, really. Marshmallow Boy is an enigma. Marshmallow Boy visits the shop a few times a week in the late afternoon once the after school rush has thinned. Marshmallow Boy has never eaten the same flavor of ice cream twice in a row. Marshmallow Boy asks for extra Marshmallows on everything he buys - including affogatos past and two cold hot chocolates.

 

Marshmallow Boy’s wheelchair comes in dark red, and he favors a very comfortable-looking pair of mustard yellow pants.

 

Marshmallow Boy has dark skin and darker eyes framed by lashes that could make a man’s heart stop beating. Marshmallow Boy has a smile that makes Genji fumble in his practiced motions, a voice so rich it puts dark chocolate gelato to shame.

 

Marshmallow Boy has _dimples_.

 

“He’s… cute,” Genji mutters, prodding a spoon at the tall bucket of pomegranate sorbet. Hana smirks and doesn’t say anything but the high curve of her eyebrows speak volumes.

 

Okay. Maybe he’s a little in love with Marshmallow Boy.

  
  
  
  
  


 

 

Theirs is the only ice cream parlour for blocks without any steps at the entrance, which make for easy access - Genji's checked. Still, their accessibility could be better. The most egregious offense, in Genji’s opinion, is the front door. It’s wide enough to be accessible, but it swings outward rather than in, and there's no automated mechanism.

 

In the beginning, Genji had tried to be diligent in catching Marshmallow Boy’s approach in time to dive from behind the counter to hold it open, but such a feat could not sustain itself with customers in the shop. To remedy his own shortcomings, Genji’s taken to propping the door wide open during his shifts once the afternoon rush is through.

 

It’s wishful thinking more than a kindness, he chides himself every time Marshmallow Boy rolls in with his serene smile. Genji’s positive he doesn’t deserve that smile, but he basks in it regardless. Like a warm ray of sun. Like a cool summer breeze.

 

“Yo,” he says today, before his treacherous brain can generate more poetry. He leans forward on the counter with one of his grade A, high-quality smirks. Such a thing implies far more confidence than he feels in the face of Marshmallow Boy’s radiance.

 

“Greetings!”

 

It’s probably unfair to call him Marshmallow “Boy” with a voice like that. He does look young - younger than Genji, anyway - yet despite his youthful appearance, something about him feels ancient. The old soul in his eyes, perhaps. Or his shiny bald head.

 

Genji stands up straight and reaches for his scoop. “What can I get for you today?”

 

Marshmallow Boy peers up at the blackboard, broad hands folded in his lap. “Today, I think… a blended iced matcha tea, please.”

 

“I’m on it.” Genji shifts over to the neat rows of flavor bottles and boxes, scooping matcha powder into a tin cup. His body’s on automatic, and his brain is in overdrive thinking of something clever to say. Anything will do. “I'm pretty good at this,” he says in the end. Bragging is his comfort zone. “My brother will come in sometimes to pester me at work. It’s the only thing on the menu he'll try.”

 

By some stroke of luck, Marshmallow Boy seems intrigued. “You have a brother?”

 

“Unfortunately,” Genji snorts, scooping out some ice. He tampers with the milk a bit, tucking his tongue between his teeth. “An older brother. He likes to lecture me.”

 

“I too have an older brother,” Marshmallow Boy offers. Genji perks up at this tidbit, glancing over at him before he forces himself to focus on his task.

 

“Oh yeah?”

 

“Yes.” That’s definitely the curve of a smile Genji hears in his voice. He can’t keep himself from looking back again. Marshmallow Boy’s lips part around his pretty teeth when he smiles and speaks. “He too is fond of lectures.”

 

Genji hums, though the sound is weak. “We could trade, if you like,” he says, and Marshmallow Boy _laughs_  It’s quiet and short-lived but Genji thinks his heart might burst.

 

“One brother is the same as another, I fear. Though I am rather fond of mine.”

 

Genji sighs with enough exaggeration to get Marshmallow Boy laughing again. At this rate, Genji isn’t long for this world.

 

When the blender kicks up, it’s too loud to talk, so Genji stands in silence hoping his face isn’t glowing. This isn’t the most he’s spoken to Marshmallow Boy, but he’s never made him laugh before, and there it was - twice in a row. Genji can’t remember the last time he’s felt butterflies in his stomach quite like this. Like the time he lost his virginity, without all the nausea and anxiety. _Good_ butterflies.

 

When the blend is smooth and creamy, Genji grabs a cup and tips it in, leaving a little space at the top as he peeks up at Marshmallow Boy.

 

“Marshmallows, too?”

 

He brightens, tipping his head forward. “Yes, please.”

 

Genji fills the space with tiny marshmallows, piling them up so high that that a few pop out of the dome lid he snaps on top. He hands Marshmallow Boy his drink and a thick straw - bright green, as usual; even though it isn’t the exact shade of his hair, it’s close enough.

 

He rings Marshmallow Boy up, and when Genji takes the money from his hand, their fingers don’t brush _(woeful)_. Genji returns his change in small bills, and as usual, Marshmallow Boy drops them right into the tip jar. Genji bows, hands pressed together before his chest.

 

“You are too kind,” he says with the sort of dramatic flair that usually has cute girls tittering. Marshmallow Boy just smiles that sanguine smile.

 

“And you, Genji.”

 

It’s a crime that he should hear his name out of that pretty mouth every week thanks to the nametag pinned to his chest, but he should be left so in the dark about Marshmallow Boy. Who has a brother. And a cool wheelchair. And the voice of an angel.

 

Marshmallow Boy tucks the drink between his legs before he backs away from the counter and toward the door.

 

Genji’s face falls. True, Marshmallow Boy doesn’t always stay when he comes around, but more often than not, he does. Genji’s even begun to think of the corner table as his, where he occasionally sits to people-watch.

 

“Have a nice day,” Genji calls pathetically after him, without a hint of finesse or suavity. It earns him a final smile served over a shoulder that turns Genji’s insides to mush.

 

He sighs now that the shop is empty, glancing toward the tip jar.

 

And then he pauses.

 

There’s something else inside, along with a smattering of change and small bills. A blue slip of paper folded so small that Genji might have missed it. He’s sure it wasn’t there before Marshmallow Boy drifted in, so the only one who could have left it was...

 

Genji nearly breaks his thumb for how fast he shoves his hand inside.

  
  
  
  


 

Marshmallow Boy, as it so happens, has a name, and Genji has Tekhartha Zenyatta’s phone number.


	2. Chapter 2

_So_ , he taps out, after deleting perhaps two dozen conversation starters. Even this he spaces back before he types it again. The first text is crucial; he’s definitely not psyching himself out for no reason. _Why marshmallows?_

 

He hits send before he can quadruple-guess himself out of another painstakingly considered icebreaker. Then, hastily, _This is Genji, by the way._

 

Genji rolls over onto his back, nibbling on his thumbnail before he answers a few texts from his friends, trying (and failing) to convince himself that the speed of Tekhartha Zenyatta’s response isn’t world-breaking.

 

He’s already given the newest addition to his contact list its own ringtone: a series of chimes, as deep and resonating as could be found. When his phone buzzes and the chimes go off, Genji drops the phone on his face.

 

_Yes, I thought it might be you. (｡◝‿◜｡)_

 

Genji’s face burns. Of course he‘d know it was Genji. Who else would open a conversation by interrogating him about marshmallows. His phone buzzes again, double text for double text: _I like their soft  squishy texture. And I have a bit of a sweet tooth._

 

Genji grins, rolling onto his side. _It’s cute,_ he types, before backpedaling like mad. He taps that out and nibbles on the tip of his tongue. _I prefer spicy things myself :P_

 

_Need the two be mutually exclusive?_

 

Zenyatta’s response comes so quickly Genji nearly gets whiplash when he tries to switch over to another thread.

 

 _I guess not!_ he types, and sends it off. Another thought comes to mind and he curses himself for his eagerness. But Zenyatta doesn’t seem to mind multiple texts - and if he sends them himself, Genji doesn’t feel so uncool about it. He taps, quick as lightning, _Now that you mention it, I’m very good at spicing hot chocolate._

 

It takes Zenyatta a little longer to respond to this. Genji rolls onto his other side. He’s just scrolling through videos online when his phone buzzes, chimes ringing. Genji rolls back over so quickly he nearly falls out of bed.

 

_(。･o･｡) I do not doubt it! You are very good at what you do, Genji._

 

Slowly, Genji lets himself ooze over the side of the bed and onto the floor with a long piteous groan.

 

 _You have to say that! I serve you a dozen times a week!!_ he bickers, face half pressed to the hardwood floor.

 

This time Zenyatta’s response is nearly as quick as Genji’s. _A dozen? My stomach must be extraordinary._

 

Genji’s brain fizzles a little at the thought of Zenyatta’s bare stomach. His shoulders are broad, his chest sturdy, but Genji knows he narrows at the waist. He has about a hundred dark red cardigans and overshirts to Genji’s estimate, and he wears them even at the height of summer. It‘s a part of his aesthetic, one Genji deeply appreciates, but he thinks he’d give anything to see what lies underneath.

 

 _I’d love to find out,_ he types, and snickers to himself as he backspaces.

 

Still, nobody could accuse Shimada Genji of cowardice. He rolls up to his elbows, narrowing his eyes at the screen, his thumbs flying.   _You’re my best customer, you know? I feel like I should_ \- He frowns, backspaces. _I would like to thank you -_ He utters a quiet “tch-ah” and taps back again - _show my appreciation somehow. Do you like coffee?_

 

He sends it before he can second guess himself, and smiles at the screen triumphantly until his grin falters. What a stupid question! He _knows_ Zenyatta likes coffee. Hastily, he types, _Not mine, of course._

 

And then he kicks himself. _Unless you’d like some of my coffee. Off the clock._

 

When did he get so bad at this?

 

Genji nearly swallows his tongue when Zenyatta’s chimes ring.

 

_I would like that very much!_

 

Genji traps his tongue between his teeth, typing his response when another text comes in.

 

_The coffee and your company (*´∪`)_

 

Dropping the phone, Genji buries his face in his hands. This is it; this is how he dies. His ears are hot when he finally manages a coherent response.

 

 _So,_ he starts, much like his first text, _how does Thursday work for you?_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Zenyatta, as it happens, enjoys coffee even more than he lets on. Or more accurately, he enjoys the coffee shop experience. To the hilt. He orders no fewer than four small drinks over the duration of their stay, all of which Genji mentally catalogues. His mind has become a database for all of Zenyatta’s tastes.

 

A latte with a pump of mint syrup; an iced dirty chai; a blueberry smoothie; a honeyed cappuccino in a cup so wide and round it might as well be a bowl. He cradles it in his long artful fingers and sips so delicately Genji doesn’t know what to do with himself. Genji himself orders one large iced green tea that lasts him the full three hours they occupy the cafe. He doesn’t particularly care for iced drinks, but better to have cold tea intentionally than to grimace through a lukewarm drink.

 

Between them lies the remnants of half a dozen pastries, crumbs and paper cups stacked together in some semblance of order.

 

Even though Genji was the one to invite him out, Zenyatta had insisted that he pay for himself - a self-aware smile on his face as he ordered his first two drinks and a couple pastries in tandem. They’d split a giant raspberry muffin and a chocolate ganache in that first hour as Genji had mined Zenyatta for information.

 

None of the hundred things he learns about Zenyatta makes him less of an enigma. He’s a teacher of sorts, which explains the timing of his visits. He works out of the local Shambali monastery, which means his pupils are almost certainly underprivileged. Genji‘s chin sinks into his palms when he realizes that Marshmallow Boy owns two dozen cardigans, eyes that turn the shade of dark chocolate in direct light, and _teaches orphans_ for a living.

 

His suspicions were correct: Zenyatta’s far too good for the likes of Genji.

 

Even so, eventually Zenyatta’s hands lift the cappuccino to his lips and nods toward Genji. “I have spoken enough, I think. I would like to hear more about you, Genji.”

 

Genji laughs a little, dragging a hand through his hair. “I am not nearly as interesting as you.”

 

“Your hair would suggest otherwise,” Zenyatta says with an impish smile. Not five seconds later he makes the sweetest noise Genji’s ever heard, somewhere between sorrow and acceptance; his cappuccino’s run dry.  A breath of laughter escapes Genji and he stands, gathering up their mess.

 

“Why don’t I take care of this, and we can continue this talk outside?”

 

Zenyatta’s face brightens. “An excellent idea, Genji! It’s a beautiful day.”

 

“Wait here,” Genji tells him and tosses their garbage. He glances over his shoulder to make sure Zenyatta isn’t looking before he sidles back up to the counter.

 

The look on Zenyatta’s face is priceless when Genji sets a bag and a plastic cup in front of him. He looks up, eyes wide. “What is this?” Genji shrugs, grinning with all his teeth around a straw as he finishes the last of his tea.

 

“Lavender lemonade. Seemed like the kind of thing you’d be into.” He makes a roundabout gesture with a hand. “Cute and sugary-sweet.”

 

Zenyatta’s fingers brush over the bag. “And this?”

 

“My treat.” Genji shrugs again, backing up toward a trash bin. “You really like tiny cakes, right?”

 

Zenyatta’s laughter sends liquid warmth down Genji’s belly. “I do indeed,” he says, gathering everything up in his lap. “Thank you, Genji.”

 

“You wouldn’t let me buy anything for you earlier,” Genji all but whines, holding the door open for Zenyatta as they depart. Then, feeling bold, “Even though this is a date.”

 

Zenyatta hums a thoughtful note, and Genji breathes a sigh of relief that at least he doesn’t deny it.

 

The turn of the seasons approaches as the oppressive air of August gives way to cool September breezes. A fair few clouds drift through the sky, covering the sun, making exposure bearable. It’s the coolest day they’ve had in months. Genji tips his head toward the sky with a deep, satisfied gust of breath. The path they walk is wide enough for them to remain comfortably side by side.

 

“You were going to tell me more about yourself,” Zenyatta reminds him, slowing momentarily as he lets his chair drift while he has a hand free to drink.

 

So Genji gives him an abridged version. As much as he likes to talk about himself, he doesn’t want Zenyatta to realize how poor a match they make on the first date. He’s the youngest son of an affluent family, keeps his job at the parlor to keep himself occupied and regularly paid, knows several styles of martial arts, frequents the local arcade and noodle scene. Zenyatta listens raptly, interrupting only to inquire further about bits he finds particularly interesting (bits Genji’d been attempting to skirt around, naturally). Offers that he too is quite proficient in a martial art - a Nepalese style carried on mainly by the Shambali.

 

“We should spar sometime,” Genji says, and pauses when he realizes that maybe that isn’t the most polite thing to say to a man without the use of his legs. But Zenyatta smiles indulgently.

 

“I agree, we should. Now please, tell me more about these old yakuza ties...”

 

Another hour passes at least, meandering down the city streets. Genji can’t remember the last time a date has lasted this long that didn‘t start and end in bed. By his estimate, they haven’t even crested four thirty.

 

Even when the conversation lulls, Genji is content simply to wander by Zenyatta’s side. Hanzo would probably pay him dearly for his secret.

 

“Hey,” Genji says, breaking the quiet as he notices  the honey-slow uptick in after work traffic. He glances over at Zenyatta who looks back up at him. Pushing his luck, bold as anything, Genji shoots him a grin. “How do you feel about dinner?”

  
  
  
  
  


Zenyatta is quite amenable to dinner after all. And to (inferior) gelato after dinner. And being walked home under a blanket of stars. And best of all, to the kiss Genji presses to his cheek under the wide doors of the monastery where Zenyatta resides.

  
  
  
  
  


“You’re _super_ in love with Marshmallow Boy,” Hana says half in delight, half disgust as Genji leans over the counter, stars in his eyes. Zenyatta sits at his corner table, attention rapt on the handheld game in his lap lent to him by Hana.

 

The yellow blanket tucked around his legs and a dark red beanie signal the changing of the seasons better even than the steady decline of the parlor’s patronage. The pompom pinned to his beanie and the pink bunny decal on the game in his hands combined physically wounds Genji somewhere deep, deep down inside.

 

“Yeah,” he sighs, melting against the counter top. “You know, I think I am.”

**Author's Note:**

> Inquire about fic requests [here!](http://wardencommando.tumblr.com/ask)  
> Tumblr: [wardencommando](http://wardencommando.tumblr.com/).  
> Battle.net ID: byacolate#1589

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[PODFIC] Sugar Crystal Sisyphus](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14074080) by [sksNinja](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sksNinja/pseuds/sksNinja)




End file.
